The Quest of the Sacred Slipper eBook

This was my first expedition of the kind; and now
that my goal was actually in sight I became conscious
of a sort of exultation hard to describe. My
companion, on the contrary, seemed to have become
icily cool. When next she spoke, her voice had
a businesslike ring, which revealed the fact that
she was no amateur at this class og work.

“Wait here,” she directed. “I
am going to pass all around the house, and I will
rejoin you.”

I could see her but dimly, and she moved off as silent
as an Indian deer-stalker, leaving me alone there
crouching at the extreme edge of the thicket.
I looked out over a small wilderness of unkempt flower-beds;
so much it was just possible to perceive. The
plants in many instances had spread on to the pathways
and contested survival with the flourishing weeds.
All was wild—­deserted—­eerie.

A sense of dampness assailed me, and I raised my eyes
to the low-lying building wherein no light showed,
no sign of life was evident. The nearer wing
presented a verandah apparently overgrown by some
climbing plant, the nature of which it was impossible
to determine in the darkness.

The zest for the nocturnal operation which temporarily
had thrilled me succumbed now to loneliness.
With keen anxiety I awaited the return of my more
experienced accomplice. The situation was grotesque,
utterly bizarre; but even my sense of humour could
not save me from the growing dread which this seemingly
deserted place poured into my heart.

When upon the right I heard a faint rustling I started,
and grasped the revolver in my pocket.

“Not a sound!” came in Carneta’s
voice. “Keep just inside the bushes and
come this way. There is something I want to show
you.”

The various profuse growths rendered concealment simple
enough—­if indeed any other concealment
were necessary than that which the strangely black
night afforded. Just within the evil-smelling
thicket we made a half circuit of the building, and
stopped.

“Look!” whispered Carneta.

The word was unnecessary, for I was staring fixedly
in the direction of that which evidently had occasioned
her uneasiness.

It was a small square window, so low-set that I assumed
it to be that of a cellar, and heavily cross-barred.

From it, out upon a tangled patch of vegetation, shone
a dull red light!

“There’s no other light in the place,”
my companion whispered. “For God’s
sake, what can it be?”

My mind supplied no explanation. The idea that
it might be a dark room no doubt was suggested by
the assumed role of Carneta; but I knew that idea
to be absurd. The red light meant something else.

Evidently the commencing of operations before all
lights were out was irregular, for Carneta said slowly—­

“We must wait and watch the light. There
was formerly a moat around the Gate House; that must
be the window of a dungeon.”